


Night Night

by uv_duv



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Horror, M/M, Nightmares, Pre-Canon, Sleep Well Sweet Guillermo, Storytime, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26934502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uv_duv/pseuds/uv_duv
Summary: Twenty year old Guillermo has just moved into the house and is adjusting to his new surroundings. One night, Guillermo asks Nandor a question with a very long and disturbing answer."This was the arrangement Nandor insisted on after Guillermo bombarded him with questions every night as an eager new familiar. One question per week, predicated on completed chores. Guillermo had thought about what his question would be all week. He swallowed and asked, “When did you turn your other familiars?”“This will be requiring a long answer. Sit,” Nandor said."
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless
Comments: 21
Kudos: 41





	Night Night

When Nandor drew the curtain back and showed Guillermo the tiny closet under the stairs where he would be sleeping as a full time familiar, Guillermo initially balked and stuttered “O-oh.” It was so small. And he had expected at least a solid door. However, as he cleaned the space, replaced the dusty bedding, and put up some of his favorite band posters, he realized that compared to some of his friends away at college, it wasn’t so different from a dorm room, was it? And besides, he thought, in a few years he’d be sleeping in a coffin for the rest of eternity, wouldn’t he? In that light, the cramped, dark room under the stairs was a step in the right direction, really. 

This particular night, he had finished his chores early and was sketching his vision of his vampiric future: “Guillermo the Great”.  _ Well, maybe. _ He wasn’t completely settled on the name, but the alliteration was nice. Regardless, the image was always the same. Shoulder length hair, smoldering eyes, classy vintage clothes, and of course, the fangs... 

Nandor called for him, snapping him out of his daydream.

Closing his sketchbook, Guillermo scurried to Nandor’s crypt quickly, sliding around the heavy door and shutting it quietly behind him. Nandor the Relentless, the incredible vampire that Guillermo was privileged to call his master, stood imperiously in his crypt, one arm perched casually against his coffin, the other holding a book. Guillermo felt his breath catch in his throat for a moment and his heart skip a beat. He was grateful that Nandor hadn’t looked up from his book, which he now noticed was a collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s works. 

It didn’t matter that Guillermo had dressed him earlier that evening. It didn’t matter that he had been his familiar for more than a year now. Looking at Nandor still felt like walking into a gothic cathedral, being floored by soaring ceilings, stained glass, regal thick black hair, and eyes that in the right light sometimes gleamed gold. 

Guillermo’s fingers tightened around his sketchbook and then he cursed himself for grabbing it instead of his notepad.  _ Shit, do I even have a pencil?  _ Before he could discreetly check, Nandor’s eyes flickered at him from above his book and paralyzed Guillermo. 

“Have you finished your chores?” he asked, eyes still scanning lines from Poe.

Guillermo couldn’t help borderline babbling, “Yes, sir, I finished scrubbing the floors, mowing the lawn, dismember--”

Nandor cut him off. “Yes, yes, good, good,” he said languidly, finally putting the book down on his coffin and using a priceless ring as a bookmark. “Very well. You may have one question,” Nandor held up his finger to indicate the number one.

Guillermo tucked his sketchbook under his arm. This was the arrangement Nandor insisted on after Guillermo bombarded him with questions every night as an eager new familiar. One question per week, predicated on completed chores. Guillermo had thought about what his question would be all week. He swallowed and asked, “When did you turn your other familiars?”

Nandor tilted his head, a strange look passing over his eyes that Guillermo didn’t know how to interpret. He nervously trailed his fingers over the fabric of his jeans, wondering if this was somehow too forward of a question. But instead of chastising him, Nandor looked up at the ceiling and swirled his hands absently as he presumably thought about it.

“This will be requiring a long answer. Sit,” he said, laying back in the chaise with his legs spread and his hands folded in his lap. 

He looked up at Guillermo expectantly.  _ Where do I…? _ Guillermo trundled over to sit on the chaise next to him but Nandor grimaced and gestured to the footstool.  _ Oh, duh. _ When Guillermo still sat too close, Nandor pushed the stool back with his foot.

“I’ve had many many familiars over the years, as you can no doubt imagine. Centuries ago I was involved in a long, wonderful, horrendous romance with a very powerful queen,” Nandor said as he twisted a ring on his finger, sighing wistfully. Guillermo thumbed the pages of his sketchbook in his lap. He could almost imagine the woman in his mind's eye, no doubt imposing, tall, with long dark hair, beautiful and terrifying in equal turns. 

“She was the most powerful person in Europe at that time. But uh...she got jealous of my familiar and slit her throat during one of our more contentious chess games.” Nandor dragged a finger over his throat, gurgling and fluttering his hands to illustrate blood spray. Guillermo giggled. 

“I lost that game, but in all fairness I was distracted because the blood spray ruined my vest.” Nandor splayed his hand over the tan and green doublet that Guillermo put on for him that evening. Guillermo was confident that he could have gotten the bloodstain out now. He raised his hand.

Nandor curled his hand in confusion. “What does that mean?”

“Can I ask something?”

“Ah, a wise system. Okay, go ahead,” Nandor nodded slowly.

“So once her throat was slit, you turned her then?” 

Nandor scoffed. “Ah, no. You can’t swallow anything if your throat is cut, now can you? It was unfortunate, but I did enjoy an unexpected meal.”

_ Oh.  _ Guillermo thought. He didn’t know what to say.  _ Waste not want not...? _

“I lost a number of excellent familiars to similar situations,” Nandor grumbled.

“D-do I need to worry about that?” Guillermo asked timidly. He put a hand up to his neck, imagining the blade sinking in, sliding across, opening the thin skin of his throat like scissors gliding through wrapping paper.

“Ha,” Nandor snorted incredulously, ”Absolutely not. I assure you that this will never, ever be a problem for you.”

Guillermo nodded slightly, mostly to himself. Nandor’s biting reassurance managed to make him feel a little better. _I mean, he was right, wasn’t he?_ _Who would ever be jealous of me, anyway?_ Why had Guillermo even thought of it? 

Nandor continued. “I was exiled after that. In the next country, I found a new familiar quite quickly, a young woman from a very rich family. She only liked other ladies and was trying to escape her betrothal to a contemptible man. Fair. I ate him for her and he tasted like boot soles,” Nandor made a disgusted face, as though he was remembering the taste then and there. Guillermo wondered if Nandor would ever eat people for him, if he asked. Wondered briefly what he would taste like, too.  _ Better than boot soles, hopefully... _

“That apparently was a bad move. She was so agitated. Silly, really,” Nandor waved his hand. 

“She didn’t want to marry him anyway, what was the big deal? It didn’t end up mattering because I returned home one evening and she was convulsing, which was very odd for her. She didn’t usually do that.”

Guillermo furrowed his brow.  _ She had a seizure…?  _ What did that mean? He raised his hand again. 

Nandor inclined his head towards him, so he asked, “Did you turn her then?”

“I couldn’t with all the foam and the puke,” Nandor shrugged.

“I had to throw the rug out by myself too. She was so close to the tile!” he clicked his teeth in distant irritation with a woman that had been dead for centuries.

Guillermo supposed he would find that annoying too.  _ But… also… _

“Um, so… have you turned..?”

Nandor kept talking. 

“Let’s see now…” Nandor steepled his fingers together, “I had two fabulous familiars back in the 1660s in Poland? Maybe Prussia? Started with that letter, anyway. Very freewheeling time, we all had a lot of fun together,” Nandor smiled wide, his fangs gleaming in the candlelight. His eyes, too. Guillermo rubbed the hem of his sweater between his fingers and looked down, smiling softly. Maybe Nandor would remember him like this someday?

And then Nandor kept talking.

“I thought everything was cool but uh… one night they were both gone. I had to put myself to coffin, which was already bullshit, and then, surprise!” he looked down at something imaginary in his lap and shook his hands in the air, “It turned out one of them was in there!”

Guillermo’s eyes darted to Nandor’s coffin. He would never, ever dare--

“I guess the other guy didn’t like him because he stabbed him like Switzerland cheese and ruined his face. Just, like, aughhhh,” Nandor motioned to his own face, making clawing motions. Guillermo giggled again. He definitely didn’t have to worry about another familiar trying to kill him.

“It was very rude, most of his blood had dried into the fur lining of my coffin, so I couldn’t even enjoy that, and on top of that, I again had to replace the coffin by my fucking self!” Nandor’s arms flopped to his sides in dismay.

He sighed. “Key takeaway? Only one familiar.”

A little puff of pride flared in Guillermo’s chest that Nandor had chosen him. Guillermo raised his hand again. At Nandor’s assent, he asked “What happened to the other familiar?”

“Other fam--?” Nandor frowned but it passed quickly, “I don’t know, how would I know that? He never came back.”

_ Huh,  _ Guillermo thought to himself. He realized that he had kind of hoped that Nandor would avenge the dead familiar.  _ Guess not... _

“There was… about a century ago I had a magnificent familiar,” Nandor slumped back in the chaise and his gaze became distant. Guillermo could immediately sense that this one was different.

“She was smart, shy, funny, always getting into trouble... she didn't have many opportunities. On top of being a human woman, she was many different colors, and I guess that was a no-no? Anyway... I was very fond of her and she, she...” Nandor looked down, forlorn, his mouth slack. 

He closed his eyes for a moment and then growled, “she ruined the tub.”

Guillermo felt a confusing nausea. He wasn’t sure how to interpret this story either. _Did she--? Well, no, blood wouldn’t ruin--?_ _Maybe she had tried dissolving a body in the tub?_ He had seen Breaking Bad and knew that wouldn’t work... He raised his hand again.

“What about the familiar right before me? When did you turn them?”

Nandor brightened, which encouraged Guillermo. “The familiar before you came into my dark employ sometime after the new millennium. Nice enough guy, lost him pretty quickly though.”

“L-lost him?” Guillermo stuttered. 

Nandor sat up, bracing his elbows on his thighs. “We were playing the hiding seeking game one night and he wouldn’t come out even when I ordered him to. ‘Okay well I am leaving now!’ I had said but still nothing. Very dedicated.”

Guillermo took a deep, slow breath and looked around the crypt, as though a strange emaciated man would crawl out of a cupboard at any moment.

“So what--what does that mean? Did he quit without telling you?” Guillermo had to hope.

Nandor immediately dashed that. “Oh no, his smell never left the house.” 

Guillermo said nothing. Couldn’t say anything. A chill tip-toed up his spinal cord.

“Anyway, let me know if you find him,” Nandor said casually.

Guillermo looked up at Nandor with utter horror plain on his features.  _ Was that an actual possibility? _ It felt like his heart was trying to crawl up his throat.  _ Did he--did he fucking die somewhere in the-- _

Guillermo blinked rapidly and adjusted his glasses. “Wait so, um, then, did all of your previous familiars die?”

“Not all of them died. Many simply quit. As I have told you many times, being a familiar is not easy…"

Nandor gingerly grabbed Guillermo’s sketchbook from his lap, flipping through it slowly, holding one page in delicate pinched fingers. He held it up to Guillermo and asked, “Who is this representing?”

“Oh um…” Guillermo felt heat building in his cheeks to replace the chill from earlier.

Nandor read “Guillermo the Great” out loud and then asked, “Is this another vampire that you idolize like that Armand?”

“N-no, Master. It’s… me. As a vampire.”

Guillermo smiled awkwardly, quietly hissing and motioning fangs in front of his mouth. He knew he wasn’t exactly a fantastic artist but that didn’t stop Nandor’s next comment from punching through his ribs like an ice pick.

“Hm. I don’t see the resemblance. Plus, you are neither a vampire nor great. ‘Guillermo the Okay Human Familiar’ more like,” Nandor paused, squinting at Guillermo and then back at the sketch, “This is really meant to be you? Ehhh.”

He handed the sketchbook back to Guillermo and recommended asking Laszlo for art lessons. Guillermo’s eyes stung but he said okay, yes sir, right away. Nandor held out a hand before Guillermo could leave.

“Not right now. Let us play a game,” Nandor said, reaching out for Guillermo to help him to his feet.

_ Please Jesus, not hide and seek…  _ Guillermo silently prayed as he grasped Nandor’s cold hand. He beckoned Guillermo to follow him to the fancy room. 

“Have you heard of a game called Connect4?”

Guillermo had never played a game with Nandor before. He kept making bad moves on purpose, with the assumption that Nandor would expect to win. After three or four rounds of effortless victories, Nandor pulled the plastic grate before Guillermo. As the black and red pieces spilled down the playing grid, he said, “Guillermo, I want you to actually play. Please,” in a surprisingly soft voice.

Guillermo felt the breath catch in his throat. “It’s… it’s okay if I win? You won’t be, um, upset?”

Nandor responded, “Never. As long as you don’t cheat.”

Guillermo collected his red pieces as Nandor collected his black ones, their fingers brushing incidentally. 

\-----

“Look boy, you either can or you can’t, and judging by this, you definitely can’t.”

Laszlo’s words echoed through his head as Guillermo looked up online art tutorials. He was sketching quick studies from memory of Nandor’s head at different angles when Nandor called him again. This time he grabbed his regular notepad and left the sketch book.

“I have just been informed that it is 2010. We need to sort through my last century of clothes.”

Nandor led Guillermo up to the attic for the first time. The single bare bulb revealed piles of junk.  _ Was that a StairMaster? Do they need to exercise still? _ That might be his question for next week, Guillermo decided. It couldn’t possibly have an existentially terrifying answer. Guillermo was also vaguely surprised that Nandor even owned clothes from the last century, but Nandor led him to a trunk that had clearly last been opened in the 1970s. 

Nandor would either hand him an item to keep or toss an item he didn’t like anymore into a growing pile. Guillermo was a little bummed when he threw a purple shirt and a leather vest on the discard pile. He would have loved to see Nandor wear something like that, it seemed so at odds with his usual refined style. Guillermo also couldn’t hide his reaction when Nandor pulled out a suede jacket positively dripping with fringe.

“I had a lot of good times in the discos with these,” Nandor said, seemingly to explain himself. Guillermo couldn’t imagine Nandor wearing any of this, let alone dancing. It was fascinating.

“People go dancing now, Master. If you ever--”

“It is not the same, Guillermo. It never will be,” Nandor said with surprising gravity, shaking his head.

Guillermo opened the next trunk in the line, a white leather trunk, and screamed. 

And screamed. 

And screamed. The inside was dark brown and wet and slick and edged in rings of toxic blues and purples and smelled absolutely horrendous. The putrid stench was like rancid fingers shoved down his throat, in his nose, in his eyes. But he couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop screaming. The sunken paper bag eye sockets stared back at him.

Nandor slammed the lid shut and tried to calm Guillermo.

“It’s okay, it’s okay Guillermo, shhh shhh,” he sing-songed, lightly patting Guillermo’s shaking shoulders, “There there.” 

Guillermo still couldn’t stop screaming. 

“He can’t get you, you are fine, please stop shrieking,” Nandor’s song ended. “Guillermo, please, you will startle the attic squirrels…” he whispered, looking around the rafters in concern.

Guillermo was light headed, couldn’t get the image out of his head, felt sick, felt so sick, leaned over to throw up, but nothing would come out. Nandor awkwardly patted his back.

“Come now… you’ve seen dead people before. This one’s a lot soupier but uh, at least they’re in a convenient to-go box for you to take care of.”

\-----

Guillermo rallied. He could do this. He was doing this to escape ever becoming this. After all, Nandor was right, it was just… leftovers. 

As he heaved the white trunk down from the attic, he tripped over his own jeans and fell, spilling everything out of the trunk down the stairs with him. Wet leathery bones skittered down the steps. The brown liquid, what had been — used to be a person, was now leaking out of the white trunk, soaking into his sweater, his jeans, his shoes, the floorboards, staining everything. It was unsalvageable. He threw up in the trunk with his eyes screwed shut. 

When he got the cleaning kit from the bathroom, he donned his rubber gloves and sighed.  _ You just… scoop it… back into the box. It’s fine. This is fine. Spoiled human soup. _

He did it.

He threw out the sweater, his jeans, and his shoes, cried and scrubbed himself raw in the shower, but still felt like the brown liquid had somehow been absorbed inside of him.

\-----

The thrift store run was overdue anyway. He had lost a lot of weight as a familiar. Maybe with better fitting jeans he could avoid these kinds of accidents. Annoyingly, the thrift store only had beige khaki pants in his size, but he figured they’d probably be ruined at some point anyway. One of Nandor’s victims had a lot of cash on him, so Guillermo threw in a white dress shirt, since they were easier to bleach, and another sweater that fit a bit better as well.

Guillermo really didn’t anticipate helping Nandor out of his coffin that night to effusive praise.

“Guillermo! Wow! Look at you! So professional. Quite the improvement,” Nandor hummed, clearly pleased with his new look.

He adjusted his collar, blushing. “Th-thank you, Master. Silver linings.”

“Ugh, no, not silver! Gold linings, if anything.”

“Yes, gold linings, Master,” Guillermo chuckled, standing a little taller.

\----- 

Guillermo had a nightmare the next day.

_ Nandor was standing in the center of the foyer, his hands over his eyes. The rug he was standing on was stained with brown liquid.  _

_ “Alrighty, Guillermo… Ready or not…” _

_ Guillermo slipped into Nandor’s crypt, looking for a place to hide. Stepping through the heavy door, he was back in the sloped, unfinished attic, the single bare bulb flickering. Everything was cleared away and there was only a white trunk in the middle. Waiting. _

_ He felt terror constrict his chest. Was he breathing?  _

_ The light bulb was barely clinging to life. _

_ Brown liquid dripped down the sides of the white trunk as the lid opened with a groan. Or a wheeze. _

_ Everything was pitch black. _

_ Guillermo hammered on the lid, screaming and screaming. He couldn’t get it open no matter how hard he tried. Total panic overtook his body and he kicked at the walls like a rabbit fighting to escape the jaws of a wolf.  _

_ “Master! Master!” he screamed his throat raw, hysterical tears streaming down his face, the trunk shaking with his struggle, “MASTER!!!” _

_ “NAN--!!!” _

_ A slick hand slipped over his mouth. _

**Author's Note:**

> The last few stories I've written I've said, "Yes, finally, this is it, the worst thing I've ever written."
> 
> Who knows how far down this pit goes?
> 
> Enjoy the suffering.
> 
> Credit to sinaesthete for beta'ing, credit galore to the Nandermo Discord for feeding my darkest impulses.


End file.
